


J is for Jail

by residentdogenthusiast



Series: A-Z Prompts for the Hamilsquad [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Banter, Drabble, Jail, M/M, RevSet, Some Ships By Mention Only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12688977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/residentdogenthusiast/pseuds/residentdogenthusiast
Summary: The boys get into a little trouble, but there are knights in shining armor to the rescue.





	J is for Jail

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little of the troublesome RevSet.

Gilbert paces the small jail cell that he and his friends had been tossed in an hour earlier, teeth worrying his bottom lip with nerves and fear. The only sound that echos throughout the small jail cell is the sound of his heels clicking against the concrete floor and Alexander’s soft groans of pain. He should count his lucky stars that it was only the four of them—that they hadn’t been jailed with the other criminals. Though, he attributes that to Hercules and Alexander’s small amounts of fame within DC.

He should’ve known that going out with his best friends on a celebratory weekend would become a problem. Whenever the Revolutionary Set—as they’d called themselves since their high school days—got together, trouble was bound to happen. Especially considering how long it had been since the boys had hung out as group—what with their hectic lives, it had been a good few months since they’d had the time to party together. Anyways, the night had started off innocently enough—drinking at Alexander and John’s apartment, playing a drinking game where they took a shot every time someone in a horror movie did something collectively idiotic. Somehow, however, that had led to them leaving the safety of the apartment and ‘vandalising’ someone’s home. Someone being the George King III, Alex’s conservative political rival that had been one of the few to vote down his debt plan.

And they'd been caught because instead of leaving after the eggs, spray paint and toilet paper decorated the property entirely, Alex had insisted on showing King who's boss and climbing the tree so he could piss on his window.

And he'd fell, which led to the boys having to call 911 and out themselves.

Now, the charges against them were vandalism and public intoxication. And Alex had a broken arm.

“ _Zut! Je savais que je n'aurais pas dû t'écouter des idiots!_ ” Gilbert exclaims with a sudden fury, the tension that had built up from his wearing a hole into the concrete prison cell floors with his pacing suddenly exploding. He whips around to his fellow detainees—Hercules who is slowly sobering up and dealing with the ensuing hangover, Alex who is coping with the pain due to the medication's from the hospital wearing off, and John who is quietly trying to soothe Alex’s whimpers of pain. “George is going to be _so mad_ with me!”

“George? You're worried about _George_?” John asks incredulously, looking up from where he'd been attempting to comfort his boyfriend. Well, at least John has just the slightest bit of panic—Gilbert was beginning to think he was the only one thinking clearly. “Lafayette, we teach _children_! We can't have a record if we're going to teach kids! What about our jobs?”

That’s right. Lafayette had recently landed a job teaching ninth graders French I, and he loved it. The kids were often times a handful, and he got the occasional outburst from students—not to mention the asshole staff that held their own snotty opinions of him due to him being engaged to the Vice President of the United States. But all-in-all, the job was lovely. He got to talk and teach about his home country, and speak in his native tongue for money. He couldn’t bear to lose his job, it was the only job he had ever held and been able to stand.

“ _Merde! Tu as raison!_ ” Lafayette cries, before sinking down the wall of the cell to the floor. He buries his hands in his face, not caring the least bit about ruining his makeup. “I’m going to lose my job. My husband. What if they take little Georges away from us because I’m a felon? _Oh mon dieu, je ne peux pas perdre mon fils!_ ”

“You’re not gonna lose Georges over a vandalism charge, they wouldn’t do that to the Vice President’s son. And Washington isn’t going to leave you over this bullshit. C’mon, think realistically. But what about my fucking arm? I can’t work with my arm like this!” Alexander whines, groaning in pain as he shuffles to sit up on his own instead of leaning against John. “Plus, it fucking hurts!”

“Aaron can pull some strings to get this expunged from our records, too, Laf. Or your husband can pardon us,” Hercules sighs, adding the last part with a dry chuckle. “And Alex, I’m guessing you've learned your lesson about climbing trees wasted out of your mind.”

“Besides, we’re all forgetting the most important part here,” the designer continues, rising to stretch his legs. He begins pacing now—walking around the perimeter of the cell with a dejected look on his face. “George is the VP, so he's gonna have the money for Laf’s bail. Alexander is Department of Treasury, so he can always call one of his coworkers to bail him out and John is so close to the Schuyler Sisters, they’d do anything for him. But with Theodosia’s medical bills and us preparing for a baby, there's no way Ronnie can afford my bail. And he doesn’t have access to the account with the money from my fashion line.”  

Gilbert looks up at that, and he too rises to his feet. Crossing the space between the two, the Frenchman places his hands firmly on Hercules’ shoulders and looks into his eyes with seriousness. “We’re not going to leave you here. I promise, Herc. We wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Mr. Washington, Mr. Mulligan, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Laurens? You’re all allowed to have your phone calls now. Please, follow me to the phone booths.”

Gilbert is the first to jump and exit the cell at the prospect of getting his phone call, needing to hear his lover’s voice and confirmation that they would be alright. Anxiety over being left whenever small discrepancies came up hadn’t disappeared since he was that twenty-year-old kid standing outside some obscure coffee shop pleading for George to never let him go. Every waking moment, Gil was terrified that George was going to leave him—but especially in situations like this. When he gets to one of the many phones lined up against the station's walls, he hesitates for only the slightest moment before dialing the familiar number to their home. When George answers, he agrees to come bond his husband out—however, only after a lengthy and winded lecture about making better choices and monitoring the amount of alcohol intake he had when he was with his friends.

Alexander follows directly at his heels. He knows who he’d much rather prefer calling—Alex would rather call John, and vice versa. No one in the Revolutionary Set liked the feeling of owing someone, but especially Alexander. He’d grown up poor on the islands, grown up with that dreading feeling of owing anyone who ever showed him a lick of kindness. The last thing he wanted to do was ask for thousands of dollars in order to bond out of jail—especially when he knew it was so late in the evening, and whoever he called would be going out of their way to help them. That only made having to ask much worse. But since he knows that he can’t get John out without getting out himself, Alexander reluctantly—and with loud, obnoxious complaining as the phone rang—calls his high school friend and political rival, Department of State Thomas Jefferson, to come bond him out. He gets the same obnoxious complaining right back about Thomas being pulled out of his ‘beauty sleep’ with his ‘beauty lover’—to which Alexander responds with overzealous gagging—, but promises to bring his credit card.

John stays behind in the cell, curling up on the uncomfortable bench and waiting for Alexander to return. He knows that Alex would much rather he wait for him to get bonded out and return for John than John indebt them to anyone else. And if it’ll help his boyfriend’s anxiety, John has no problems complying. After all, this isn’t the first time he’s spent the night in a jail cell—just the first time there were actual charges added to it. It’s not like he minded being in jail, per se, he just minded that this stay could potentially ruin his career. Usually, from the ages of twenty to twenty-four—when he was his most wild, before he finally decided to settle down with Alex in an apartment with a dog and a job with salary—he would simply spend the night in the drunk tank. After getting particularly rowdy at a college party or having a few too many shots at someone’s nightclub, police officers would escort him to the jail cell where he’d sleep off the alcohol. Then they’d release him to his father, which was the most unpleasant thing if anything about nights in a jail cell. This time, John can only hope that whoever Alex calls is quick to pick him up.

Hercules, however, is the only one that lingers by the cell phones. He doesn’t know who to call. His brain thumbs through an index of about fifty names that he knows will come help him if he picks up the phone and dials—but which of those would he mind being indebted to the _least_? He considers calling Aaron, but then remembers his husband wouldn’t have the funds to bond him out. So he thinks about Theodosia and Angelica. They would have the money with no problem─Theodosia may only be a nurse, but Angelica is raking in the big bucks being Department of Education. The only problem was, Angelica held grudges like a bitch—he’d never hear the end of the time he woke her and her pregnant wife up at four in the morning to come get him out of jail like some troubled teenager. He can’t call Eliza, he already was indebted to her after she last minute filled the place of one of his models at New York Fashion Week. And calling Maria would be an extension of calling Eliza…

Sighing, Hercules leans his head against the cool metal of the built-in phone and wills himself to think.

That’s when he gets the perfect idea of who to call.

✘━✘

“I swear to every known deity, I’m going to murder those four in their sleep,” the exhausted, raspy voice of Thomas Jefferson says as he pulls his sweater tighter around his body to ward off the cold of the police station. Due to the status of the three come to bond out their friends─or in George’s case, husband─, they were waiting in a private interrogation room for the boys to be discharged and brought out of holding. Thomas had already paid the bond for Alexander so that his coworker could get his lover out of jail, he was now simply waiting for Alexander and John to return so he could drive them all home and go back to _sleep_. It was damn near five in the morning, and it seemed as if Alexander had forgotten the important cabinet meeting that was to occur in five more hours. Plus, he’d been having a _lovely_ dream with his husband of eight years in his arms.

Thomas receives a small ‘here, here’ from a painfully groggy Martha Washington, who’d come clad in nothing but a fuzzy purple bathrobe and some slippers that looked far too big and masculine to belong to her. He can’t help but chuckle drily under his breath at how tired and messy the usually perfectly put together Martha Washington looks, especially considering she was known as the most bouncy, cheerful and well-put together President the United States had ever had.

“Please, I’d rather not be a single father only a year into my sons life,” George yawns before rubbing sleep from his eyes. Thomas decides he likes the morning far better when his bosses were caught off-guard. Like the President, the VP was usually very well put together─he’d even won the ‘most well-dressed celebrity’ award from People magazine. It was a rare occasion where he was seen without his usual suit and tie ensemble, simply lounging. But on this morning, he wears just a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and holds a lightly snoring baby boy in his arms. He looks less the Vice President and more an exhausted stay-at-home father.

It’s nice to see the two of them unwind, Thomas just hates the circumstances it happens to be under. However, they deserved to deflate every once in awhile─act like people instead of the robots the American public expected of them.

Thomas can sense that at least _one_ of the headaches they were picking up had been properly discharged, because all the bodyguards swiftly move to the front of the interrogation room. They obscure the view of whoever is coming in from Jefferson’s sight for a few minutes as they search whoever it is down, and then Thomas’ sight is filled with the slight form of his cousin. Lafayette enters the room with a flourish─hugging both Thomas and Martha briefly but warmly before dropping a kiss onto George’s lips and taking his son from his husband’s arms.

“How has he been? Was he fussy while I was gone?” Laf asks quietly, gently rocking with little Georges in his arms and cooing at him once he stops speaking. George crosses his arms over his broad chest and narrows his dark eyes at his husband, and both Thomas and Martha can feel the oncoming lecture that was bound to happen. Gilbert too notices this, and he flashes George his most apologetic look. “I’m really sorry, _mon coeur_. I’ll be more careful.”

“Damn right, you will. You could’ve gotten extremely hurt, Gil! And thank God Alexander only broke his arm, one of you could’ve _died_. That was a pretty high drop from that tree. Not to mention the field day press is going to have with this if they find out. What were you thinking?” George asks, his small spiel making Lafayette flinch and take a step back. George’s voice is the epitome of calm and level, but anyone with ears could see just how frustrated he was with the entire situation. Even despite George seeming more disappointed than angry, the younger of the men holds the child in his arms with a terror and anxiety that Thomas had never seen him exude before. Due to his not wanting Gilbert to have complete mental breakdown on top of everything else that occurred that night, Thomas decides to step in.

“He gets it, George. He’s sorry, you know this. _Let it go_. Go home, get some rest—the both of you.”

Both George and Lafayette seem to like this plan enough, so they each give their goodbyes—Laf’s punctuated with a kiss on both cheeks and hugs, George’s with a firm shake of the hand—and allow their bodyguards to escort them out of an exit where paparazzi or press wouldn’t see them. And warmly, Thomas notices that despite the obvious argument that would ensue later over this predicament, they lean into each other’s personal space as they leave the interrogation room.

Thomas and Martha aren’t left alone for very long when the rest of the squad comes tumbling in—well, Hamilton comes tripping in over his shoelaces that he never seems to be able to remember to tie, Laurens and Mulligan would walk fine if they didn’t trip over him with every step he took. The bodyguards quickly do what they did to Lafayette—give the three of them extensive pat downs and searches, even going as far to confiscate a shark tooth necklace from Laurens with the promise to give it back once they were safely at home. Not very many people had been happy with the idea of a black female President and a biracial, bisexual Vice President so the guards could never be too careful. Friends could become foes at the drop of a hat.

“I hope you learned your lesson,” Thomas scowls, standing and stretching as he attempts to locate the tone of voice that comes across as ‘malice’. Martha rises to her feet as well—obviously they’re both just as eager to get out of that wretched place and into the warm comfort of their own beds as the boys are. Thomas is already considering not going to the cabinet meeting and just staying home with James. Sleeping in followed by hot chocolate, and _all_ the Home Alone movies.

“If my lesson is having to see your ugly face, then it has been well learned,” Alex retorts immediately, his good hand inconspicuously slipping into the back pocket of his boyfriend’s jeans. Ah, well, the bane of his existence was free once again. No longer caged up in some dog cage like animals—and with his freedom, came his natural assholish ways. He no longer needed Jefferson to come to the rescue, therefore he no longer needed to play nice. Well, it was nice to have his political enemy at his mercy while it lasted.

“Martha, do you think there is anyway I can get my money back and leave this one here to rot?” Thomas asks, turning to look at the short dark-skinned woman who had Hercules by one of his ears. She stops whatever brutal lecture she’d been inflicting on the fashion designer—and it does seem brutal, as Hercules’ eyes are widened slightly and he looks very uncomfortable—and smirks at her colleague.

“I am the President. I’m sure they could pull a few strings,” she teases, eyes flitting to Alexander. Everything on her face reads seriousness besides her eyes, which explains why Hamilton puts his uninjured hand up as a relent and gives an overdone bow. Though, Jefferson is sure that Alexander knows he’s like a son to her and she wouldn’t _really_ leave him in a jail cell.

“Yes, your Majesty's. Message received all clear. Play nice with Troll Jeffershit,” Alexander grins, already making his way out the door to the car that most likely waiting for him and Laurens.

“Guard!” Thomas calls after him. “Take him away again, I change my mind!”

* * *

  **Zut! Je savais que je n'aurais pas dû t'écouter des idiots!** — Damn! I knew I shouldn't have listened to you idiots!

 **Merde! Tu as raison!** — Fuck! You’re right!

 **Oh mon dieu, je ne peux pas perdre mon fils!** — Oh my God, I can’t lose my son!

 **mon coeur** — my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Notice how I made Martha President instead of George? Yeah, girl power to the max. Besides, eventually Martha will step down and George will run. But I like the idea of her being the boss. Also, since it isn’t mentioned, she and Washington are ex-wife/husband that happen to be a badass political team together.


End file.
